


Touch Starved

by GreatWhiteShark



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-06-18 00:37:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15473634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreatWhiteShark/pseuds/GreatWhiteShark
Summary: Prince Lotor is fascinated by the Medic and wants to satiate his curiosity...through touching.(Lotor x Reader)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Reader tends to Lotor’s wounds, but the Prince doesn’t make it easy for the good doctor.

It had started out as...something  _subtle_. Something that, more or less, tickled the back of Prince Lotor’s mind. He was an observer, always has been, and he’s gotten so used to his survivor skill that it was almost second nature to just study. Study the stars, the planets, the people, the enemy, the  _allies_. Anything that teased his curiosity with a single stroke of its finger always sang to his urge for more. Go, discover, learn.  _Explore_. It was both a curse and a blessing.

 

With just a glance, Lotor could process three things about the group seething at him from outside the prison walls. **One** ; not a single soul trusted him. That much was a given considering all the grief and trouble he dragged them through mere hours ago. **Two** ; they kept him alive for information. These heroes could have easily wiped his existence from this astral plane, but they were merciful. Whether for their own good souls or their own benefit, he has yet to figure that out. And **three**?

 

He was being observed, as well.

 

Not in the way the fine Paladins and Alteans did, with their heated glares that, in an alternate reality, could  _melt_ him on the spot. No, Lotor felt another pair of eyes on him, from the back of the group and well hidden from his line of sight. That tickle became stronger and he was itching to rise to his full height just to get a better view of who was spying on him. For now, though, he would play the waiting game. If he was patient, soon enough his prey would feel just as curious, if not more, about the scary alien prisoner behind bars.

 

How does the saying go? If you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back? Oh, he could get used to this game.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Prince Lotor’s patience succeeded in the end. Well, that and the gaping hole in his arm may have sped up the process. Team Voltron had concluded that to get information, they would need a prisoner, um,  _ALIVE_. Which brought up the problem of Lotor nearly bleeding out thanks to his recent betrayal from his commanding officers. Sure, his wonderful Galra genetics helped him stave off his pain for a while. He was considering himself lucky now that he hadn’t passed out from lack of blood.

 

“You’re bleeding.”

 

Oh? Quite the sharp eye you had. That was sarcasm, but he held his tongue to stay in your good graces.

 

“I have been for quite some time now,” he explained, brushing off his wound as if it was merely a hindrance, a missing armor piece or a stubborn hair in his face, “I take it the Paladins of Voltron have assigned you to aid me?”

 

You answered with a solemn nod and approached the cell cautiously. Very cautiously, almost  _too_ carefully, as if the air would suddenly conjure up lightning to electrify you on the spot. The way you held yourself reminded Lotor of a...frightened animal, like a gazelle hiding from a herd of lions and gators and every predator known in the universe. He supposed he did give off that energy, even stuck behind a cell like this one. That, and his height no doubt intimidated you to no end.

 

He could see your fear...and you were right to do so. Alone, just you two in the umpteenth floor of the castle with nothing but a barrier keeping him from approaching you. Though, he did not always need force to get what he wanted. Words were his most powerful weapon.

 

“May I see your arm, please?” you motioned towards the barrier that had a small slot opening just big enough for him to slip his arm through.

 

Ah, a  _polite_ medic! How perfect. Much easier to observe when your subjects are docile by nature. And how could he deny such a person? Lotor kept his eyes focused on you as he followed your orders, watching carefully as you disassembled his broken armor to reveal his damaged arm. There was a glint in your eyes when you spent seconds turned minutes scrutinizing the wound. Anything you learned, Lotor did as well.

 

For instance, during your unraveling, he noticed how your fingertips did not  _once_ skim over his skin. Again, the image of a gazelle flashed through his mind. Surely your cautiousness stemmed from something else? Yes, he was a dangerous man, a criminal too, but even you could see that his skin was not going to attack you. He was not some venomous snake that had poison  _oozing_ from his pores. No, he concluded it had to be...something else. It wasn’t the power, the menacing aura of his heritage, or his steely gaze that set you on edge.

 

He kept the thrill of this observation behind his facade, but he wanted to...experiment. Test out his  _hypothesis_ , so to speak. Part of him found it amusing how you kept just barely out of his reach, as if he wanted to clutch your throat in his larger hands and choke you until the last breath left your lungs. No, that would be...boring. The tickle wouldn’t be satisfying once he scratched it. Besides, what better way to gain the trust of the Paladins than to show he was of no threat to them? He would do so, starting with you.  _Through_ you, to be more specific.

 

You dabbed his wound with a generic cloth soaked with what he could only assume was some sort of alcohol, judging by the strong acid reaching his nose. Not only was his wound open wide along the length of his arm, but it was singed at the edges. Your movements were slow and calculated, something Prince Lotor appreciated and praised with his eyes. Now, if only you would look at him. Once - just  _once_ \- but the stars would not grant his wish.

 

“It will have to be stitched up,” your voice was...were you  _bored_? “But the burns will need to heal before doing that, or you’ll get an infection. There’s too many dead skin here, but I did remove as much as I could given your...restrictions.”

 

“Very well,” Lotor’s voice was deep, naturally commanding, “Do what you must,  _good_ doctor.”

 

Damn, he had hoped the compliment would deter your focus, but you did not yield. In fact, while you shuffled in your medical bag, Lotor could see you were more...disinterested. Was it the wound? Did you see too many cuts and bruises every day that assisting him was a waste of your time and potential? Or...were you, too, just observing him indirectly? So many questions, but not enough answers!

 

“Stay still, please,” came your order, not a hint of force behind them, “This will sting.”

 

Thread after thread, the cut in his arm sealed close. Your fingers were nimble and efficient like any competent medic, though your work was mediocre. Sufficient, perhaps a little primitive as well. Lotor was obedient, but at least his arm no longer throbbed in pain and spilled his blood everywhere he stepped. His sharp eyes watched you cut the string and, before you could pull your hand away, he took a risk by barely grazing his callous fingertips with your soft ones. He could play it off as an accident easily, even though his very purpose was to get a reaction out of you.

 

Oh, and  ** _what_  **a reaction he received! Almost instantaneously, you yanked your hand back to your chest as if his touch alone would have severed your fingers clean from your knuckles. You didn’t blush, which was one reaction he expected. He had charms, he knows it, and is very well aware of them. Though, judging by the  _absolutely_ hateful look boiling behind your eyes and the near animalistic snarl set on your lips, it wasn’t his physical appearance that triggered your defenses to switch into an offensive mode.

 

No, it was the  _act_ he did.

 

“Do  _not_ touch me,” you spat, acid dripping from every syllable and a harsh threat nearly rising from your voice, “Don’t  _ever_ touch me.”

 

That tickle...it  _grew_ tenfold. A medic who was averse to touching patients? How absurd! Or...was it just him? Did you hate him as much as the Paladins did? Maybe more? Either way, he pulled his arm back within the cell to lay limp by his side, his cosmic blue eyes taking in your, in simple terms, utterly  _pissed_  off glare. You had shrunk back into yourself again, but this time the fangs and the claws were out. This time, he didn’t see the gazelle. It was more like...a turtle.  _Come closer, stick your fingers in my face again and see what happens._

“I apologize,” he stated with utmost sincerity, “I...I meant you no harm. Truly. It was a mistake on my part.”

 

Lotor’s words didn’t seem to temper your rage. If anything it seemed like he only stoked the burning flame even more. You must not have believed his apology. At least now he answered one question: you didn’t hate him.

 

You hated being  _touched_.

 

Your nostrils flared a bit before you huffed at him in warning, still not trusting him or his genuine words. Perhaps that was an honest error on his part. His simple touch had seared you, hurt you, even if there was no superficial proof on the surface. Without sparing him another word, you turned your back to him and walked away from his cage. His mind was processing everything that happened so quickly,  _analyzing_ where he went wrong and how his next test would be in a more controlled environment.

 

Yes, there will be a next test. Prince Lotor’s curiosity was  **not** sated and now, he can truly say he found humans quite fascinating.

 

Lotor wanted to  _learn_.


	2. Second Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Lotor’s touching goes a little too far for the Medic!Reader.

Prince Lotor found himself in a familiar situation a mere few days later, albeit a bit more... **dangerous** . Scratch that,  **_MUCH_ ** more dangerous. Of course, he was still secluded in his cozy cell with his cozy food and his cozy stitches. Though, while he laid in relative comfort and skewed security, the Castle of Lions was, simply put, falling apart. In the  _ literal  _ sense. The ship was being attacked quite viciously and there was no news being passed to the only prisoner who was stuck in a soon-to-be death dungeon.

 

The Prince let out a gruff curse, his body flung up against the ceiling as the ship jerked once more when another attack pierced the hull. He had to get out if he wanted to live and learn all there was to know about the galaxies. He had to get out to, well, to explore that  _ insistent  _ tickling that urged him to pull your strings, to cater you to his wills and whims, to dissect you, all for the sake of discovery. When Prince Lotor was determined, he would go the distance to achieve goals. No prison would restrain him.  **Victory or death.**

 

“-lura, Allura! Open cell 87A-3, Lotor’s-” a loud  **BANG** resonated throughout the giant chamber, “Fuck! Allura, can you-God  _ DAMMIT _ !”

 

The lights flickered off for a few seconds and Prince Lotor was met with pitch blackness. There wasn’t even a glow of energy in the room and, for a rare fleeting moment, Lotor was... _ hesitant _ . There was obviously a battle taking place outside and HE was stuck here, doing nothing. But his ears did not deceive him! He heard you and  _ SAW  _ you riding the lift down to his level before everything went dark. Though, as of now, you were...quiet. Did you die? Did you leave him to suffer his cruel fate?

 

“Lotor?  **Lotor** , can you hear me?” you concerned voice echoed the hall.

 

A loud CRASH resonated again and the lights flicked on once more. The barrier caging him was still active, still trapping him, and he saw you just a few feet away hastily tapping keys on the holographic screen that denied him his freedom. The station blinked red and you slammed a closed fist upon it in frustration, cursing some expletives that he strangely found amusing. It wasn’t working, obviously, and Lotor can see your brows scrunch up in anger, as if you were running out of time.

 

Which, in this case, wasn’t completely wrong. You turned towards the barrier, running towards it, and began hastily inspecting it for  _ SOME  _ sort of weak point to jailbreak him out of there. Lotor was in there for a few days and he found nothing of use, though you were adamant about helping him. He never thought he would see the good doctor fret and worry like this for his safety. Given, he too was worried about his fate, but you...those eyes of yours, frantically flicking here and there, it reminded him of a ticking time bomb. If you didn't figure something out soon, you would die, you would LOSE  _ everything  _ you worked so hard for.

 

“I am here, doctor,” he spoke in a wavering voice as the ship jerked once more, making him stumble to his feet, “ _ Curses _ , what in the cosmos is going on out there?”

 

“The ship, some space creatures, I don’t-” you tried to explain, but your words were too fast and he couldn't hear you very clearly over the sirens blaring in warning, “They’re sapping the crystal, we’re running out of power and-”

 

The mechanism above Lotor’s cell exploded, dislodging an enormous component that began falling right over his prison. With no escape, no barrier dropping to grant him freedom he  _ desperately  _ needed in this situation, Lotor was left with his fate. The large chunk of metal smashed through his roof, successfully knocking it completely off the catwalk. You stared at him, horrified, fearful,  _ scared _ , and his expression? It mirrored yours. He couldn't die here, die by some slab of metal taking him out, before he got to experience the rest of his damned life.

 

Though, your eyes...you held a sense of immense sadness behind them.  **Guilt** , he would even dare assume.

 

“ **_Prince Lotor!_ ** ” you screamed in urgency, watching as the prison cell fell lower and lower into the chasm.

 

The barrier was no longer active, now that it was completely disconnected from its power source, but it was a few seconds too late. Lotor was plummeting farther away your figure reaching out to him. That arm, open hand, calling him,  _ demanding  _ he come back. Demanding he  **TRY** . And who was he to simply give up? That was not Prince Lotor. That was not the Galra way he was taught.

 

With the agility and strength he gained as an exiled Prince, Lotor quickly hopped up to his feet and rushed to the broken edge of his prison. There were more pieces of the ceiling falling down towards him and time was of the most critical essence. His mind and body went into overdrive, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he calculated the best possible route to take. He crouched and launched himself upwards, using the momentum to carry him from concrete chunk to chunk.

 

When the pieces dwindled down and his pathway was slowly running out, he used all his strength to propel himself as far as he could to you in one final  _ leap _ . His claws reached out in the flickering light before it completely went dark. Lotor could hear his heart drop in his chest. His fingers grabbed nothing but air. Just like every aspect of his life, his goal slipped through his clutches, reminding him that  _ fate  _ was the one in charge here.  _ Fate  _ decided the outcome, no matter how much blood, sweat, and tears he worked into changing it.

 

_ “I got you!” _

 

Your hand had managed to tightly grip around his armored wrist at the very last second. It was odd to think about, especially on the brink of death, but your voice in the endless darkness was like a starlight calling to him. A wish granted. The voice of the moon. Dear cosmos, he was  _ grateful _ . And he would not take this act of grace without thanks. Still rushed with adrenaline, his other hand reached up and those claws of his latched onto your arm. He was secure, even though everything around the two of you was falling apart.

 

“ _ Fuck _ ! Lotor, you’re-ugh-you’re  _ heavy _ !”

 

Now was not the time for this, but he couldn’t restrain himself from ordering you around, “Get me up at once and THEN we can begin insulting one another!”

 

You followed his order and hauled him up the platform with struggled grunts and pained whimpers. He crawled up and allowed himself a second to breathe, though the threat of danger was still hovering the ship. The room was dark and the only thing he could use as a point of reference was...your hand.  _ Your warm, soft, smooth hand _ . Tethered together, you led him to the stairs, where a glow of red was illuminating the only exit available. Lotor ran with you, too eager to get as far away from this hellish prison as fast as he could, and he tightened his hold to remind himself that he was in your debt.

 

* * *

The Paladins and Princess were in worse for wear. As it turns out, all the power from the castle has been sapped from a swarm of Titan Anguisobers. Energy sucking space eels, in short. Floating in a dead vessel around an empty asteroid field was the least of the crew's problems, however. Without healing pods to assist you in aiding the more sore wounds, the castle was stuck with primitive Earth medicine practice. Meaning you were now  _ overloaded  _ with work.

 

The hospital wing in the castle was completely destroyed as well. All medical supplies were gone or unsalvageable. Prince Lotor knew this would only slow down the recovery process. Hence, why all of the members of Voltron were currently gathered in the main command center, himself included. Now that things were more calmer, Lotor could take time to reflect on all the events that happened.

 

His stare was on your person, observing you once again, though this time without the restraints of his prison’s barrier.

 

Exhaustion was clear on your face, as well as all the other’s in the room. Allura was passed out, no doubt from having her life source directly connected to the energy crystal. What those eels took from the crystal, they  _ took _ from her as well. Coran was tending to her, but otherwise, she had no injuries on the surface. The same could not be said for the Voltron Paladins, though. This was a battle lost. It showed on their defeated expressions.

 

“Shiro, I need a hand here,” you ordered, that bored tone no longer mixed in your words like before, “Put some pressure there-yes, just like that. Pidge will be fine, the bleeding has stopped.”

 

It was like watching a completely new you. There was no hostility, but Lotor supposed the urgency with everyone’s health pulled out the sense of professionalism to the surface. He could see you were more comfortable with them than you were with him. He took no offense to that. In fact, he would  _ praise  _ you for your caution, even if there was none hovering around you now. Shouldn’t there be? He could easily harm you if he so desired to do so. He could very well  **snap** your neck before the Paladins had a chance to step in. Did you feel  **safe** with the Paladins surrounding you?

 

Prince Lotor  _ could  _ touch you, but a quick glance down to your forearm told him that he already had in the  **worst** way possible.

 

Four, no,  _ five  _ lacerations, all about two to three inches long, scarred down along the length of your arm. The wounds were still open, still sensitive, though the blood has long since been dried and wiped away. They didn’t need stitches, no, just bandages. However, with limited supplies going around, it was the good doctor’s ridiculous selflessness which left you being unattended to.  _ Stupid _ , he thought. If you died, if you bled out, who would take care of the injured? This was why he was no medic at heart. Their morals were too closely tied to accursed emotions.

 

Prince Lotor was honorable, _ to an extent _ . He caused this injury, so he will heal it. Given, this wasn’t what he had in mind for his next test on exploring your odd habits. You were touching the Paladins just fine. Skin contact did not make you flinch away like before. For now, all he could rightly conclude was that you despised any contact from  **HIM** . Solely him. So, why then, were you so willing to save him from falling in that pit? Did something change? What was added, or taken away, from his experiment?

 

The questions piled up and he could see his hypothesis crumble to pieces.  _ Too  _ many anomalies, not in a controlled environment, missing background information.

 

More data was needed, but seeing you wince in pain, Lotor realized that he needed a subject that was  _ well and alive _ . He wasn’t done with you yet. Lifting himself off the wall he was leaning on, the Prince walked right up to you, disregarding Shiro’s warning stare. That stare which told him his defenses were active and the  _ big guns _ will come out if he so much looked at you wrong. Those raised hackles was something Prince Lotor knew quite well.

 

“Did your stitches come undone?” you regarded him carefully when he stood in front of you, but not in the sense of wariness, more like concern for his well being.

 

Ever the caretaker, you were. Lotor waved his hand, arm showing that his stitches were still, in fact, set in place. If he was to say so, he was probably one of the few who came out unscathed from today’s attacks. A small glimmer of relief passed your eyes, relief of...not having to heal him and knowing he wasn’t injured. You knew that deep down, it could have been much,  **_much_ ** worse.

 

“Doctor, your arm,” he nodded towards your injury, decidedly leaving out that his claws cut into you because he was nervous at the time, “Would you allow me to aid you?”

 

Shiro narrowed his eyes at Lotor and he could very well feel the stare pierce his back. He paid no mind, seeing as he was the only one here who was in good health to lend a hand. They needed all the help they could get. You studied him, those calculating eyes boring into his stoic face. Lotor could hear it,  _ hear  _ you weigh the pros and cons of his question in that little head of yours. Oh, if only he could read your thoughts, he would poke and prod and dissect your brain for days. And days.  _ And days. _ Until you lost your beautiful mind in his madness.

 

You lifted your arm to him slowly, still on the fence about offering yourself to his services, “Don’t-”

 

“Touch you. Yes, I will refrain from doing so, good doctor.”

 

He had already indulged himself once and now, you gave him your skin so willingly. Of course, this was for science.  _ Heal  _ you so you may  _ heal  _ others. All you did was give and give and he would  _ gladly  _ push that limit of yours. Prince Lotor picked up a spare roll of bandages once you gave him the nod of approval. Everyone else was on the road to recovery and there was just enough on the roll to cover your arm.

 

He got to work, slowly,  _ carefully _ , and with the tenderness of a lover. This was so new to him,  _ touching but not touching _ . Healing by the demands of the patient.  _ Give  _ control to  _ get  _ controlled in return. Perhaps it was the intimacy of flesh touching flesh which left you uncomfortable? That was one possibility he would have to explore by getting closer to you, both through the mind and body. Challenge accepted, challenge  _ very well  _ accepted.

 

It was the thrill of not getting what he wanted. Not  _ yet _ , anyways. Prince Lotor found it fun, even though he knew he could, he  **WILL** , get you in the end. Instant gratification does not happen in science. When he finished his job, following your demands of NO CONTACT ALLOWED, he was granted that first door to access your heart.

 

A flicker of trust behind your eyes.

 

And he was  _ absolutely  _ ready to devour you whole.   
  



	3. Third Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing is more intimate than touching the Doctor’s moral ethics... and Prince Lotor is going to do just that.

“Ah,  _there_ you are, good doctor.”

 

The comforting silence surrounding you was soon interrupted by the one and only, Prince Lotor. It came as no surprise that, with his previous imprisonment chambers sitting in a heaping pile of shambles, he was allowed to roam freely around the castle. Of course, not without  _constant_ supervision. Even he could sense the lens of cameras focus on his every step. Lotor had a feeling if the ship had enforced security measures, lasers would be directly pointed at his person.

 

None of that mattered at the moment, however. The Castle of Lions was sputtering through space in hopes to find the closest friendly planet to aid their unfortunate situation. Luckily, this gave him some time to...get to know you better, so to speak. Judging by the dull, uninterested, and perhaps  _slightly_ annoyed expression written on your face, he could only assume you had free time to kill.

 

“Lotor,” there it was, you were  _bored_ , “What can I do for you?”

 

Such a  _formal_ doctor! Always straight to the point. It was humorous that you were non-chalant in front of him, but he knew you were on edge. Otherwise, why would you have snapped your attention to the door so  _urgently_ upon his arrival? Or why did your eyes keep watch on the way he walked as if he was on the prowl for his next target? Lotor, ever the observationalist, noticed these things before you could even hide them. His hypothesis was true then.

 

You felt  _safe_ with him behind bars. You felt  _protected_ around the Paladins, but in this open area with only air as your cover, you felt  _endangered_.

 

He approached you with echoing footsteps then cleared his throat, back straightening and chin held high, “I wanted to personally thank you for your help before. Had you not arrived just in the nick of time, surely I would not be standing before you.”

 

“It’s my job,” you waved your arm flippantly, said arm still wrapped in bandages, “You’re welcome.”

 

A pregnant silence filled the room, your eyes still regarding him ever so cautiously. Lotor’s brow arched in concealed excitement when you flicked your gaze to the door. Ah, you were like an open book tonight. Looking for an escape route. Your hackles were raised in defense. The good ol’ “fight or flight” response if he so dares overstep his boundaries. But no,  _no_ , he wasn’t here to push you. In fact, he wanted  _you_ to come to him instead. Push  _yourself_ past your limit. And how would he do that?

 

Time to see if you really did  _trust_ him, even a smidge.

 

“If I may request, doctor,” he rolled his shoulder, “I have a rather painful soreness on my back which has been bothersome for quite some time. Would you be able to assist me?”

 

In all actuality, he was telling the truth. Yes, he was double-jointed, though sometimes there was a tender, stiff knot that would come and go after he twisted his shoulders. Normally, Acxa or even Ezor would relieve him with a massage to rub the tenseness and loosen a few twists, but seeing as they were no longer his generals, he sought you out for this favor. And, well, it was greatly amusing to see your stoic face...twitch in  _disbelief_.

 

And he knew you wouldn’t say no. You are a  _good_ doctor, after all.

 

“...I see,” a bit of uncertainty and doubt clouded your eyes, “Unfortunately, I do not believe the castle has supplies in stock for a proper massage therapist.”

 

Could you do it?  _Yes_. You’ve done it for Shiro and Pidge plenty of times before. But did you want to for Lotor?  _Debatable_. Sensing your hesitancy and seeing your attention daze off while you calculated the pros and cons within your mind, Lotor reached into his back pocket and showed you a small vial. Inside, from what you could see, was some sort of thick liquid. Oil, no doubt.

 

“Rather... _prepared_ for this, aren’t you?” you blanched at him, fully suspicious of his intentions now, and you could have swore his lip quirked in a trickster’s smirk.

 

Inside, that tickle grew  **stronger**.

 

Lotor almost wanted to shrug. You said that like it is a  _bad_  thing. Perhaps you should have been a little perturbed, yet you buried that feeling for now. Yes, you were still wary around this purple alien Prince, but in this castle, he was  _your_ patient, too. You proved that when you saved his life twice and, no doubt,  _many_ times in the upcoming future. Motioning him closer, you instructed him to sit on the floor with his back to you.

 

If you’re going to do this, then he better be in a vulnerable position, too. What was more defenseless than baring your weak spot to someone? You inhaled deeply then let all that shaky anxiety go. Or at least, _tried_ to. With him in such a close proximity and not in any real life-threatening danger, it was hard to switch into a professional mode so easily. Lotor knew this, he heard this in your sigh. He was relying on this.

 

Add a little  **heat** to the solution to see a  **reaction**.

 

Your shaking hand crept over his shoulder to reach between the front of his armor’s collar. There was a latch in there and, when your finger squeezed between it, you flinched.  **Hard**. Lotor felt your nail scratch his skin, but it didn’t hurt at all. He paid no mind to it. You were nervous, and rightfully so. At least it didn’t induce rage from you. At least it didn’t seem like his snug warmth injured you like the first time you two came into skin contact.

 

“Lift your arms, please,” your tone was firm, so of course he complied without a word.

 

His front and back plate fell off with a hiss after you pulled the latch. Now, you were left with his skin-tight shirt. It was like undressing a child. A rather obedient child. Hands rubbing together to get that burn out of them, you gathered the edge of his clothes then slowly pulled it up. His defined abs then his chest became bare in the room and, with a final tug, Lotor’s upper body was fully exposed.

 

Your hands? They were  **hot** , like you just got a little too close to an open fire.

 

“On your front,” you ordered, shifting to kneel at his side to give him room, “Arms at your side.”

 

Lotor grinned and did as you commanded. The marble floor was cold, yes, but his mind was more occupied with this dual persona you had. So, you can touch others, but only those you  _trust_. Though in his experiment, he had to come to you with a  **condition**. An injured patient. Someone who needed  _help_. When it came to the Paladins and Alteans, it was difficult for you to NOT somewhat rely on them in some shape or form, especially when you were holed up together in such close proximity. Logically, that made sense they could easily gain your trust.

 

His sharp hearing caught the way you gulped before thumbs firmly pressed into his back muscles, closer to his neck, and he involuntarily  _shuddered_.

 

“Tell me where.”

 

You were kneeling over him with your legs at his sides, carefully balancing your weight so you didn’t use ALL of your strength on your hands.  _Yet_. You  **hated** this. Your palms were  **hurting**. Lotor felt the tenseness buried in his shoulder blades and when you made your way lower, he let out a low groan, almost  _growl_ , indicating you found a sensitive spot. He gritted his teeth at how tender it felt. Perhaps next time he pulls his hyper-mobility stunt, he would remember to stretch accordingly beforehand.

 

“Right here,” you announced rather than question him, “Do you suffer back ailments often? How long has this been going on?”

 

It seems once you found the problem, your mind had instantly clicked completely.  _Good_. This was the you he wanted to dissect while engaging in this small therapeutic session. Touch the  _intimate_ part of your mind, the part choosing between the good and bad of being a respectable doctor. Or perhaps you weren’t a completely respectable doctor, after all. He has only known you for a short amount of time, whereas the Paladins…

 

“Last time -  _ **nngh**_ \- was about…” you prodded around a few more times, making sure there weren’t any spots you missed, “A hundred or so years ago.”

 

Now, your hands temporarily left his body only to come back with warm, soothing oil kneading so damn nicely on his skin. Lotor let himself slide his eyes close to simply enjoy you work out his kinks and knots. You were putting more pressure with every push of your palms and, although not as strong as Acxa, you were doing a great job. Maybe he can make this a daily thing, if only to pick apart all the puzzle pieces in your mind.

 

“You should get these out  _at least_ once every month,” you heard him let out a relieved sigh, both at how you read his mind and the delightful tingles going up his spine, “You are too tense.”

 

“And  **you** would do it?”

  
  
Your hands did pause,  _stutter_ , momentarily. Lotor was  **your** patient.  **Your** responsibility.  **Your** moral code demanded you accept.

 

“I suppose as a...  _temporary_ solution. If there is no one else, yes.”

 

 _Excellent_.

 

“In Galra tradition, the medics always follow the Emperor’s decision, whether the patient is a friend or foe,” he grunted at a particular hard knot, “ _Gentle_ , dear doctor.”

 

You frowned at that, “In Earth tradition, we do not call those  _doctors_.”

 

 _Oh?_ Did he strike a nerve there? “You do not? They both heal the wounded, is this not true?”

 

Now, you stopped your massage to fully consider his odd question, “Even a  _child_ putting a bandaid on a scrape would be a more qualified doctor than these medics you speak of.”

 

“Oh, do give them  _some_ credit,” he grinned, “And what exactly do you consider to be a  _good_ doctor, if I may ask?”

 

“They need a moral code, for one.”

 

Code. Rules. Laws to follow,  **never** to break. Lotor understood that all too clearly, but perhaps in a completely different mindset. The Galra way is “Victory or death” and that definitely applies to every aspect of their culture, medical field included. To go against the Emperor’s will resulted in death,  _rarely_ in demotion, so he knew the dangerous dynamic his father created when it comes to doctors and patients.

 

“On Earth, we have what is called the Hippocratic Oath,” you eased up on your hands, now more or less soothingly caressing his back after all the harsh treatment, “If you accept being a doctor, you  _ **accept**_ the ethics that come with it. Heal to the best of your abilities, uphold individual privacy as if it was your own, share your knowledge with those who seek it.”

 

“I see. And...this applies to  **any** patient?” but what he really meant was  _would you heal a power hungry tyrant if they were at your doorstep?_

“...Yes,  **any** patient,” you hesitated, “To have the skills to heal a broken body is playing with life and death itself. I think about this every time...”

 

**Every time a patient dies.**

“Does holding that power  _scare_ you, good doctor?”

 

“Wouldn’t  _you_ be terrified of it?”

 

Lotor couldn’t see you, but he could hear the trickle of fear lodge in your throat. Dancing between the gray moral line and stepping a toe out of place was life’s hardest lessons. Not just because of the dire thoughts of  _what could I have done better_ , but also because of the crippling doubt which shadows your heart when  you slip on that white coat. With every victory comes pride, but with every death…

 

“I try not to think of an innocent life as something so  _easily_ disposable. Even  _prisoners_ ,” even  **his** , you mean, “It’s a little romantic to think that way, but saving everyone is  _not_ my goal. Saving those I  **can**  is.”

 

“You said  _innocent_.”

 

“Innocent by  **my** standards.”

 

“And I am  _innocent_ in your eyes?”

 

He had no doubt the heroic Paladins and virtuous Alteans spoke of his evil deeds. Or rather, the power-hungry rule of his Galra heritage under Zarkon’s empire. Lotor turned his head to stare intently at you from the corner of his sight. You were contemplating your next words carefully, but that faraway look in your eyes told him that you weren’t focused for his sake. You were focused for yours.

 

“I may have been  _raised_  on Earth, followed  _their_  teachings, became a doctor by  _their_  standards,” you admitted, eyes hooding a bit sadly, “But in space,  _in war_ , it’s different. Out here, I have no liability to obey a rule simply because it  **must** be followed. Out here, _innocent and guilty_  do not hold the same weight as they do on Earth. Do these doctors working under Zarkon’s ruling feel  **shame** if they have to let their patients die? Do they feel  **pride**  by following his orders rather than the  **relief** of saving a life?”

 

Prince Lotor opted to leave your question unanswered.

 

He was not innocent in your eyes. He was innocent  ** _enough_** , though. Barely passing the scale of right and wrong after saving all of Voltron’s hard work from that planet bomb. It was for that specific reason you went back for him. You believed no one was pure of heart or evil to their very soul. People lie, steal, cheat, kill, but there was always some reason behind it and you have the insight as a  _good_ doctor to see both sides of the coin.

 

That gray line was crossed every day and you never truly chose a side. Perhaps that was why you felt the Paladin’s cautious stares on your back. Perhaps that's why Lotor sought you out for this silly little conversation. Perhaps...that was why, at every persistent offer by Shiro, you never allowed yourself to return to Earth. Being forced between the dichotomy of good and evil was  _too_ two-dimensional. The universe was  **not** two-dimensional.

 

“Have you  **killed** before, doctor?” Lotor asked with such a light air about it, but this was a question he has most likely asked several times before.

 

“On Earth, it would be considered  _murder_. By Galra traditions, it would be called  _following orders_ ,” you lifted yourself off of him, “In my eyes, I passed proper  **judgement**.”

 

Killing, sacrificed, execution, saved. It all led to the same result of  **death**. You may have the doctor’s touch, but you also had the _free will_  to choose what to follow. That thought, those last words you spoke with a steel conviction, was  _exactly_ what Lotor wanted to hear. He got his results, his data, and now analyzing it between you and the just Paladins would be the most exciting part. He understood you were the medic, but were you  ** _truly_** an ally in their eyes? He sat himself up, rolled his shoulders to test their flexibility, then offered you a genuine smile of thanks.

 

But you simply met his smile with a haunting stare, foreboding with a warning. Your hands felt  _painfully_ heavy with  **blood**.

 

“Thank you for your time,  _good_ doctor.”

 

What was  **good** to him?


	4. Fourth Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Lotor slips up.

You were positively **_disgusted_**.

 

And for once, it was _not_ directed at the Prince. No, in fact, while the Paladins of Voltron gathered around to discuss plans, Lotor was actually cuffed off to the side, just outside of their circle. He was paying attention, but their conversation only really needed perhaps 40% of his brain power. The rest of his focus honed in on you, on every minuscule _twitch_ of your facial muscles that betrayed your calm demeanor.

 

Most importantly, his contracting eyes could see unbridled **fury** radiating from you.

 

It was _odd_ , he would admit, to view such raw rage when your body did not display said emotion. Arms at your side, hands _relaxed_ and _loose_ , lips settled in a thin line of ease. You were fully composed outwardly, yet the only slip he saw was when your mouth twitched into a quick **snarl** of contempt. Oh, yes, Lotor was concerned for his own well-being now that Zarkon had demanded a prisoner trade for Pidge’s father. Though, his curiosity pulled him to question as to why _you_ were seething at the Defenders of the Universe.

 

“We have to think this through.”

  


“What’s to think _through_ ? It’s my **_dad_ ** ! We’re **doing** this!”

 

Prince Lotor let them bicker amongst themselves for now. You took no part in it, opting to keep your voice silent and only _observe_ them. Observe Pidge in all her destructive emotional outbursts in regards to her father. So much **anger** in this little one and it only seemed to be rising the more the Paladins spoke of the next best coarse of action. And yet, you _purposely_ stayed out of this. Did you feel as if you were not one of them? Not part of the _team_?

 

So he was **right** in his previous assumption. Perhaps the paladins did not trust you as much as he thought.

 

“If you return me to my father, he would surely see to my demise,” Lotor explained as logically as he could given the heavy tension in the air, “And with his most legitimate **threat** to the throne removed, he would only grow **_stronger_ **.”

 

Pidge’s glare only sharpened behind those round glasses, giving her a threatening poise of superiority, “One less threat to _Zarkon_ and one less threat to _us_.”

 

Lotor knew there was no reasoning with her. He took no offense to her threat. He has heard it many times before and will hear it many times in the future.

 

## “ ** _Pidge_**.”

 

It was your voice, laced with utter _disappointment_ and _shame_ , that directed the Green Paladin to switch her glare to you. He knows that tone, the warning tone, the “ _speak your next words carefully_ ” tone. Your glare was just as heated, but there was a thin layer of sadness glazed over it. The Prince’s eyes dilated even more, wanting to dig _deeper_ than what you showed on the surface, wanting to see what part of your history resorted you to _scolding_ Pidge.

 

“I don’t **_ever_ ** want to hear you say that **again**.”

 

“You’re with _them_ ?” Pidge’s betrayal was clear in her voice, “You’re with **_HIM_ **?”

 

And again, you were silent. You knew when to let her vent, when to step away from her anger, but you also _foolishly_ believed a Paladin would know better. She was young, you reasoned, but she was _smart_ . It was only during stressful times where her family was concerned when that logic went _right_ out the window. And her filter for cruel words followed. Pidge resorted to _violence_ , encouraged to let Lotor **die** , and that did not sit well with you _at all._

 

 **None** of this did.

 

“Think of the _countless_ worlds we could free.”

 

You closed your eyes, hearing this spiel once too many times in your life, that it has become a muddled norm in your mind.

 

“Think of my _FATHER!_ ”

 

Lotor saw your jaw clench, the smooth muscle of your cheek moving with the grinding of your teeth.

 

**_“ENOUGH!”_ **

 

It was Shiro’s booming voice that _silenced_ them all. Lotor’s nebulous eyes flicked to the Black Paladin, taking note of his own internal thoughts crossing his disheveled features. He was **just** as conflicted as everyone else who spoke their honest opinion on the matter. The Prince even gave his own logical argument of this ridiculous trade. Shiro took a deep breath, relaxed his shoulders, then called for your name.

 

“Shiro.”

 

“I want to hear your opinion on this,” he asked like a friend, an _old friend_ , and you stared at him with resolute eyes softening at his fair leadership.

 

Pidge opened her mouth to object, but a **stern** look from Shiro halted her. She gritted her teeth together, hating feeling like it was the universe against her, and clenched her fists at her side. If you weren’t careful with your words, Lotor suspects she would **explode** in anger at any moment. He watched you now, watched the show like it was the _best damn drama movie_ of the century, but more importantly, like he was watching livid animals restrain from _tearing_ each other apart.

 

“Allura,” you never called her by her title and Lotor almost tilted his head in inquisitiveness, “When I first arrived on this ship, when I agreed to **stay** and **help** , I gave you _one_ condition and _one_ condition **only** . Any patient under my care _stays_ under my observation until I deem them _fit_ to leave.”

 

Pidge’s eyes already widened in understanding.

 

“Lotor is **staying** , he is not ready to be discharged.”

 

“He looks _fine_ to me!” Lance pitched in, motioning to how Lotor, although cuffed at the wrists, was indeed standing and healed to an extent.

 

“ _That_ is not your place to **decide** , Lance,” you rebutted with a shake of your head, “I am **_disgusted_ ** any of you would even consider exchanging lives as if they were _currency_ in your pocket. Lotor may be a bargaining chip to you, to _all of you_ , but he is **MY** patient, and I will not tolerate anyone overstepping _my boundaries_ for their benefit.”

 

“ **_You_ ** don’t get to make that _choice_ ! You aren’t a **Paladin** ! ” Pidge yelled with tears of frustration beading at the corner of her eyes, “This is my _father_ ! My **_FATHER!”_ **

 

In her fury, Pidge did not see your eyes **harden** in steely conviction. She didn't see the barest tilt of your chin angling up as you stared her down in moral **challenge** . To her, _yes_ , you had a role, just like Coran, but Coran wasn’t here to pitch his two cents on the matter. It was like she said, you weren't a Paladin. Not _important_ enough for this discussion. Inwardly, the Prince was nearly **vibrating** in excitement at this new revelation.

 

“If your father was under _my wing_ , then **yes** , I would think of him,” now, your voice was _cold_ , almost cruel-like, and your words **shocked** the whole team, “But he **isn’t** . _Lotor_ is.”

 

Oddly enough, Shiro was not phased.

 

Pidge was speechless, all the rage in her little body actually **_choking_ ** her throat.

 _Traitor! I’ll_ **_never_ ** _forgive you._ **_Never!_ **

 

“Shiro,” you turned to him now, arms crossed and mind calculating, “You **can not** trust that Zarkon will keep his word. Turning Lotor over will fix _nothing_ and this war will continue.”

 

Lotor took notice of the way you spoke. Your words, your _voice_ , the **inflection** behind them, it told him all he needed to know. You have been in war before. You have _dealt_ with the lesser of two evils once or more in your life. You spoke like an aged veteran, worn and _beaten_ and **broken** from your past choices. The tickle in the back of his mind began to grow unbearable now. What _war?_ What have you _seen?_ What have you done that gave you **nightmares** in the privacy of your bed?

 

“But he showed you something, showed _all of us_ something,” you faced the team once more, “Zarkon has Pidge’s father. There is a **third** option here. Shiro, you’re the captain, you come up with the plans. If Lotor had revealed that Zarkon had her father, _what would you do?_ ”

 

Ah. Take out the middle man. Refuse to even _acknowledge_ the deal in all of its entirety. Put matters in your **own hand.**

 

“I don’t care how you do it. Sneak on his ship, gather _allies_ for a rescue mission, make your third option your **best choice** ,” eyes closed and shoulders slumped, you took a deep breath, “This is how a _tyrant_ works. They make you feel as if there is no other option _available_ . Either their word or **_death_ **.”

 

Victory or death.

 

Now, you faced him, faced Lotor, and _oh_ , he could see the haunting distraught swimming behind the depths of your eyes. Your morals, your **_precious_ ** code, so **solid** yet so _brittle_ . You weren’t defending him for anyone’s sake except your own. You truly saw him as a patient, nothing _more_ , nothing _less_ . Though, he can not say that the other Paladins understood your logic like he does. The role of a doctor was a strict one, but in such a tight-knit group, that line **must** have became blurred at one point.

 

Why else would Pidge have exploded in such contempt? That betrayal in her voice was _true_ , raw, **convicted**.

 

“I will continue to heal Lotor to the best of my abilities,” you did not break eye contact with him and he kept his facade well planted, “You Paladins find a way to save Pidge’s father _without_ giving in to a last resort.”

  


“And if there is **no other way?** ”

 

Now, you could have explained that their plans have always gone awry in some shape of form. Why? Because they were not _prepared_ . They were _hasty_ . It was unlike Shiro. It was unlike how the Defenders of the Universe should be _expected_ to work. You pursed your lips at your old friend, the one who stood by you through this odd space journey you found yourself tied in, then sighed heavily in forfeit.

 

“Then you are going to have to **convince** me why the Defenders of the Universe are making deals with the **_Tyrant_ ** of the Universe.”

  


Three days.

 

You gave them _three_ days to formulate a plan. In the mean time, you spent most of your hours with the Prince. He was on his front again, naked waist up, while you prodded his shoulder blades as if searching for an answer. It was quiet, though Lotor did not mind it one bit. His thoughts were analyzing _everything_ that was said earlier, everything you said and everything you _showed_ . Or rather, did _NOT_ show.

 

“You **lied**.”

  


“I did _no_ such thing,” you rebutted after a few seconds of silence, just to fully process what he was referring to.

 

“Last I remember, withholding information is **_still_ ** part of being deceptive,” Lotor let a small smirk spread across his lips, “I feel fine.”

 

“Doctor-Patient confidentiality,” you stated, clearly prepared for his rebuttal, “And no. **No** , you are not _fine_.”

 

Your hand applied more pressure and, just like _that_ , his shoulder dislocated out of his socket. Prince Lotor let out a pained grunt, not at all expecting you to just force his joints so easily, especially without any _forewarning_ . His ears picked up a soft “Ah, _there_ ,” before he shifted his shoulder to realign his muscles. Displeased, he turned his head to glare at you with a snarl that would’ve scared off any tiny, innocent creature.

 

“A **warning** , good doctor.” To _you?_ Or asking for a warning next time you pulled your little stunt?

 

“Do you see how _easily_ I did that?” you brushed off his comment to which he narrowed his eyes, “Your joints are too **loose**. If you even land on your back incorrectly, they will pop out like that again.”

 

Lotor remained silent, ushering you to continue, to explain something he was not completely aware of about his body and his hyper-mobility. Yes, his trick was useful in dire situations, but now that you mentioned it, there were a few battles where his arms would dislocate and cause him to become gravely injured. Perhaps he really was not fit to leave yet. Perhaps you told a little bit of the _truth_ and a little bit of a _lie_.

 

“A question, if you will humor me,” he asked, laying back down to allow your hands to work once more, “Why do you stay?”

 

 _Why_ , indeed. Why stay in a place where you were not seen as an _equal_ ? You mentioned vaguely that you had your own set of morals. Was being constantly   _disrespected_ one of them? Shoved off to the side like a background character? Prince Lotor groaned lowly when you hit a soft, tender nerve, and he swears he can simply fall asleep under your ministrations.

 

“My work isn’t **done**.”

  


“Shiro, you wanted to speak to me?”

 

The Black Paladin pushed away from the stove with two cups of Olkarian coffee in his hands. He placed one in front of you then gently blew the steam off of his. You followed suit, knowing that this was the first sign of a strained conversation. It will be something you don’t want to hear and you know Shiro doesn't want to be the one to say it. The both of you took a moment of reprieve to simply drink, prepare yourselves.

 

“We’re doing the trade,” he wasn't looking at you, but at his coffee.

 

You expected this, but you respected Shiro’s choice, “It will be good for Pidge.”

 

But for you? For _Lotor_ ? For the rest of the **_universe?_ ** War is war and it would not be the first time an emotional choice won over a logical one. It certainly won’t be the _last_ time either. You trust Shiro, _trust_ that this decision was for the best. You wouldn’t exactly place your life in his hands, but there was an unspoken agreement between the two of you. The older members, the one stuck together in this Hell of a war.

 

Were you let down? **_Absolutely_ **.

 

“Lotor will be fully recovered by tomorrow,” you informed him, eyes steeled to hide any emotion from him.

 

Shiro found that he will **never** get used to _that_ look. The closed off wall. The raised bridges. He would much rather brace against your _disappointment_ than wonder if things were still _steady_ between you two. That’s what ate him right now. He already told Pidge that they were going through with the deal and, yes, she was utterly _relieved_ , tears of **joy** breaking through her tough little facade. But you? He couldn’t _read_ you. He may **_never_ ** be able to.

 

“There is something else, too,” he took in a deep breath, “I have a plan to make this work out in our favor.”

 

“A _plan_?” you repeated, brow raised.

 

“I’m going to give him a weapon to defend himself. My **_bayard_ **.”

 

The _strongest_ weapon he had. Now, your eyes widened to look at him, look at that soft, understanding yet _dedicated_ expression on his face. You were glad he took your advice, but even more glad he was believing in his own morals above **_all_ ** else. It was why you were closer to _him_ rather than the others. He knew your past, knew why the trading of prisoners _specifically_ made you feel sick to your stomach.

 

“I **need** you to armor him for a battle. I do not think Zarkon will take the betrayal lying down.”

  


By your request, Lotor stood at the frame of your room and knocked softly, almost as if he was sneaking around to lay in other people’s bed like a fiend of the night. No, he knew _why_ you asked him to come. Shiro had filled him in on the plan, but whether or not the other Paladins knew, he decided to leave that up to the captain. All he cared about was increasing his own chances of survival in this trade and, apparently, _you_ were to aid him in some way.

 

“Good, you’re here,” the door slide open and you stepped aside, willingly inviting him into the privacy of your room, “I have something that will help you.”

 

Your room was oddly plain, just like Shiro’s. There was another door besides your dresser, one he _assumed_ probably led to a private bathroom. A desk, a bed, a window showing all the stars and galaxies in space. There was nothing here the Prince could use to analyze your past, but emptiness in itself was **something** . No pictures meant you were _detached_ . No mess aside from a disarray of blankets told him you tossed and turned in your sleep. No pictures of friends or family showed him that you were _secretive_.

 

“Shiro has already given me his bayard,” he saw you nod in his direction, “Do you plan on telling the other Paladins?”

 

More importantly, do you plan on _gaining_ their trust?

 

“No, I hold no **allegiance** to them,” resolute, final, no hint of waver at all, but he did catch your sharp glance, “Are you _concerned_?”

 

Lotor challenged your gaze, pupils contracting in the dim light of your room to study every single detail about you. This was the _first_ time you questioned him in that tone, that _inflection_ in your voice clear with an upfront **dare** . He liked this and he couldn't stop his lips quirking up in a _taunting_ smile. No, he was not concerned, but he did find it fascinating how easily you spoke those words. _No allegiance._

 

Perhaps he can make this experiment work in his favor, _tilt_ the results how he wanted.

 

“Strip to your waist, please,” you rummaged on your desk, picking up some sort of large, thin piece of armor, “I was working to create this brace for you.”

 

The Prince turned his back to you once he was bare, but you only cleared your throat in mild annoyance. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw how significantly _shorter_ you were in comparison to his tall physique. Yes, he may have _purposely_ stayed standing, just to agitate you in your own room. That catty grin only grew _wider_ while he slowly knelt on his knees for your sake. He swore his ears picked up a “tsk” of annoyance lodged in the back of your throat.

 

You gathered his silver mane in one hand while latching the armor over his back and front. He almost shivered at the cool metal, but he found that whatever material this was? It adjusted quickly to his body temperature. Lotor rolled his shoulders before standing to his full height, taking in the curious way this skin tight suit was also... **hard** and _flexible_? Taking a step back to examine him in full, you tilted your head and brought a hand up to your chin in thought.

 

“Good doctor, what is this material made out of?” Lotor questioned, stretching his back muscles and unintentionally giving you a show of his sculpted physique.

 

“Rhodyron, a specific metal from Olkarion. It absorbs shock damage while also giving the wearer _full_ flexibility,” you circled him, making sure it fitted his form perfectly, “I have yet to test how much pressure it can take, but you should be able to dislocate your shoulders by your own will.”

 

Your hand palmed his shoulder blades and you tried to apply a bit of force under them, just to see if they would pop out of place like before. To your relief, it was firm. It did not shift at _all_ and it felt as if you were touching a metal wall. **Good**. As long as it didn’t shift too much, this would be just enough to keep his joints and muscles in check should he find himself thrown on his back.

 

Now, Lotor turned to face you and with the closeness of his body, he suspected you would have taken a step back. Much to his delight, you _didn’t_ . You were so focused on this armor, his _safety_ , that the inch of space between you two did not even register in your analytic mind. This was the closet he has _ever_ achieved and, well, the Prince was not one to pass up an opportunity when it came to dissecting you. _Especially_ in this small window of **trust** you graced him with.

 

He studied your hair, slightly mussed with a strand out of place here and there. The crinkle of your brow and how natural they were, not trimmed or plucked, but shaped _smoothly_ above the contour of your eyes. Lashes were full, just like your lips, and **_oh_ ** , for a split second he wanted you to tell him your secrets. What could he **yank** out of that pretty, little mouth of yours? You know how to hold your tongue, but Lotor wanted you to **scream.** He wanted to **break** that carefully constructed facade, for his sick, twisted desire to know _more_.

 

Learn more so he could _fix_ you and **shatter** you over and over again. _Break_ your trust and **stitch** it back together. _Crush_ your morals before letting them **grow** and **flourish** once more.

 

Your eyes flicked up to meet his and now, **_now_ ** the ingenious Prince Lotor found himself slightly taken back. There, he _saw_ it, that **glint** , that one where you weren’t focused on his armor. You were hyper-focused on _HIM_ . You were studying him, just like that first day he felt your eyes behind the crowd, behind his prison. Since when did he let his guard down? Let you cage him and be the **rat** again? Was he so _engulfed_ in his own theories and hypotheses that it allowed you to _slip_ under his cover?

 

Lotor’s eyes narrowed in the slightest bit when that glint disappeared. Snuffed out as _soon_ as he found it. You **_challenged_ ** him! You put him under the microscope, not just his body, but his _character_ , the way he held himself, the way he stood before you like a tamed beast of a man. How long have you been picking apart his every quirk? His every _glance_ ? His every **word**? That tickle in the back of his mind dropped to his chest.

 

It felt **damn** good.

 

Before he could even open his mouth to let his silver tongue do his work, you had waved a hand towards the door, “That is all. You are hereby **discharged** from my care.”

  


“We are ready to go.”

 

Here he was, back in cuffs again, but unknown to the other Paladins, he was equipped with proper weapons and armor. This was bon voyage and, before everyone ushered him in the pod, Prince Lotor cleared his throat to garner each of their attention. To gain **your** attention. You weren’t coming with them, of course, but you were staring so _intently_ at his retreating form. Not in longing, no. It was _something_ else. Almost like you were **expecting** something of him.

 

Though, perhaps it will be more than what you _wanted_.

 

Lotor approached your form, feeling the eyes of the public follow his every long step. You didn’t back away when he was one foot in front of you, despite his shackled body _towering_ over you. He was going to survive this, not just to fulfill his own personal agenda, but because he was not done _tearing_ you open. The Prince offered his hand to shake and you obliged him, your smaller one disappearing in his hold.

 

“Thank you, good doctor,” a firm shake, one of understanding, one of mutual _respect_.

 

“You are welcome, **_Prince_ ** Lotor.”

 

Then, he arched down and slowly brought your hand up, _slow_ enough that you **could** have pulled away if you so wished it. You **could** have recoiled from what was coming, from the inevitable gentlemanly mannerisms only he can bestow upon you. To his _sickening_ delight, you **didn’t** . You simply watched him, _judged_ him, soaked in that feeling of his soft, beguiling lips placing a chaste kiss upon your knuckles.

 

He lingered a second **longer** , cosmic eyes _clashing_ with your perfectly composed ones.

 

You _know_ what he was saying with this kiss. He _knows_ what you were thinking.

 

_I will see you again soon._


	5. Fifth Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Medic!Reader helps Prince Lotor handle trauma.

Prince Lotor felt  **nothing**.

 

Was he in pain? Yes,  _bodily_ wise. He had done it to himself when he faced his father on the battlefield. It was his destiny that Zarkon should fall by his tainted hands alone. The fight wore him down,  _tilted_ against his favor, but in the end his father’s hubris was his downfall. In the grand scheme of his plans, Lotor had not anticipated dueling his own blood-kin so soon. He was not prepared, both  _emotionally_ and  _physically_ , but when fate made a choice, it could  **not** be avoided. He was forced to push his limits,  _forced_ to release the illusion of control over this one monumental moment that would change his life forever.

 

Lotor hated his father,  _cursed_ his very existence, but perhaps a small, child-like part of him wanted to  **save** him. End his suffering, his torment, his abuse, for did he not deserve peace? Zarkon was sick and, as his son, the responsibility of care should be ingrained within him. Lotor would not be alive were it not for his father.  _Sympathize_ with him. The Prince knows the past cannot be changed. No matter how his younger self wished it,  _pleaded_ for it,  _ **begged**_ for the hand of mercy, Zarkon was who he was. Forgive and forget was  _never_ an option. In his mind, he knew he made the right choice impaling his father through the chest and bringing his ruling to a cold and sudden stop.

 

Lotor blinked at the white ceiling and, just like  **that** , the tiny, wavering flame of regret was  _snuffed_ out. Gone with the wind. The turmoil of his dual personalities conflicting with his decisions pushed him to shut down  _completely_. His head was both too  _loud_ and too  _quiet_. Too weak and too strong. Too crowded and yet, he felt as if there was not enough space in all of the ever-expanding universe for his isolation. The only thing he could constantly repeat in his mind was that  _ **this**_ was the right choice. You were wrongly abused. You  _grew_ up abused. You  **choose**  how to handle abuse.

 

Is killing your father how you do it? Did Lotor  _really_ become a murderous, blood-thirsty monster like his father? Where did all this  _hatred_ in his life come from?

 

Prince Lotor was quiet. He felt the soreness of his muscles and the needle threading through the gash on his side. Attention only  _half_ aware that the good doctor was, once again, tending to his wounds. Not at all unlike the first time you came up to his cage with an open, caring hand. Although this time, it was you observing  _him_ with a concealed analytical mind. You were repairing him purely by your role, but you were also  _studying_ him in this rare, vulnerable, and haunting moment.

 

“This wound is deep,” you spoke carefully, quietly in the hum of the ship’s light, “It may take some time to fully heal.”

 

Your voice did catch his attention, albeit his reaction time was slower than usual. Lotor was outwardly composed as a Prince  _should_ be. He was respectful, as he  _should_ be. He was fine, as he  _ **should**_ be. With a gentle motion of your hand, you ordered him to sit up while you wrapped a roll of gauze around his chest without making skin contact. Lotor was passively watching you, but with a quick glance, you could tell his mind was somewhere else all together. Cold,  **steely** , far away where no one could  _touch_ him. No one could listen to his own thoughts tormenting his mind.

 

He has done this before. He  _knows_ the steps to take for pulling himself out of that pit of darkness. The Prince just needed  **time**.

 

“Thank you, good doctor,” tone flat, no inflection, no actual gratitude behind his words, but you took no offense to it.

 

“I will prescribe painkillers so you can rest easily tonight. One day should be enough for your body to recover.”

 

Prince Lotor understood your words, knew that his body was not even  _close_ to peak performance, and obeyed like a proper patient. You shuffled softly through the cabinets, trying to keep the noise to a bare minimum, then placed two tiny capsules and a cup of water on his bedside table. As if under an automatic system, he popped the pills in his mouth and drank the water before shifting to lay on his back once more.

 

As you headed out the door, you glanced over your shoulder once more, “Would you like the lights on or off?”

 

“Off.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Where is Lotor?”

 

“Recovering.”

 

Shiro had folded his arms and glanced at the door isolating Lotor from the rest of the castle. Although he was glad their plan worked out with Zarkon’s defeat, he could not help but feel there were more important, more  _dastardly_ , events soon to come. Time was of the essence, as it  **always** was, so the Black Paladin had hoped to bring the Prince to the group for his opinion on the future tactics. Zarkon may be dead, but the Empire was  _still_ strong.

 

“With Zarkon gone, we need to figure out our next plan of action,” Shiro explained before nodding to the door, “I can call the Paladins to meet here instead if that is necessary.”

 

“ _Shiro_ ,” your tone was firm in warning, “Lotor is  **recovering**. As his acting doctor, he is not allowed any visitors for a full 24 hour period.”

 

“I understand that,” he pushed, using that infamous leadership role with you, “But we have to act fast. Put him in charge at the Galra Empire’s headquarters. If there is something we are not aware of, we have to know.”

 

You narrowed your eyes at your friend, your old companion who was using logic to try and make you yield, “I understand  **that** , Shiro. You can ask him when he is no longer in my care.”

 

Now, you two silently studied each other, neither of you backing down. Stubborn, just like him, especially when it came to something you both personally cared about. He honored his role just as much as you so  _viciously_ defended yours. It was one thing he respected about you. Did you have questioning morals?  **Yes**. So did he. You two were birds of a feather when lives were at stake. You just handled it differently than what was  _expected_ of a good doctor.

 

Shiro gave a single nod, “Let me know when he is ready.”

 

* * *

 

 

Rest did not come easily for Lotor. The pills helped stave off the pain, but he refused to sleep,  _refused_ to allow his mind to linger in the blackness of his dreams. Shutting his eyes would not help him.  **Time** would and, within the last hours, he has been able to stitch back the pieces of his mind with careful, slow fingers. The door slid open and the Prince’s attention instantly snapped to you, glowing yellow eyes adjusting with the hallway light filtering in the room. In your hand, there was a tray with two cups and what looked like some sort of green food.

 

You turned the lights up just a bit, just enough for the room to be dimmed with a soft, ambient glow. Taking a seat on one of the stools, you placed the tray on the table. One drink for him, one for you. Cautiously, Lotor picked up the cup and found that it was pleasantly  **warm** , so warm in fact that, well, he found the heat melting his cold fingertips. You blew the steam off of your drink and took a sip. He did not follow. Holding this was  _enough_ for him.

 

“How is your wound?”

 

“Much better, doctor,” curt, straight to the point, the soreness in his side was not terribly aching, “I should be fine within the next few hours.”

 

Nodding in understanding, you let out a small relieved sigh, “May I stay here and keep you under observation until then?”

 

Now,  _this_ was something Lotor did not expect. You were a doctor. If you wanted to,  _needed_ to keep an eye on a patient for their physical well-being, he was sure you would not hesitate to  _enforce_ it without question. And yet, you  **asked** him. Asked to observe him? No,  _no_ , he was no fool. Perhaps you used “ _observe”_ as a guise for your status. You  **wanted** to keep him company, but in his state of mind, was that a wise choice?

 

“Of course, good doctor,” he brought the cup closer to his chest, “I appreciate it. Thank you.”

 

 _That_ had more feeling behind it than before.

 

For hours, you two simply sat in the dimmed room, neither perturbed nor intending to break the silence. Even if you were close physically, he found it oddly comforting that there was a certain distance you gave him. No prodding questions, no well-meaning hand on the shoulder, nothing past the confirmation that you were  **real**. Alive and besides him.  _That_ was enough for the Prince. To others, perhaps it would look as if you were walking on eggshells around him. To him, he saw what you were doing.

 

He was not analyzing you for once. Not  _now_. He was simply soaking in your presence like, dare he say, a close  **friend**.

 

* * *

 

 

Time was up and Lotor slipped on his armor to make himself more presentable before the Paladins. Recomposed and ready to continue his work with his newest set of allies. Fate waits for no one, but that does not mean he should give up his personal recovery time. He had to be in tip-top shape, both in mind  _and_ body, for his agenda to work. You were waiting for him outside the door, leaning against the wall with arms crossed over your chest, quiet as usual.

 

Lotor’s conscious was back into discovery mode and when he met your eyes, he found himself speaking freely once more, “May I ask you a question, good doctor?”

 

You nodded. 

 

“Have you dealt with  **trauma** before?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Resolute with  **no** shame of admittance. You did not hide it at all, for why would you? Your pride was your  _own_. There was nothing wrong with embracing your past, the  _one_ thing people seem to enjoy presenting like a weakness. Those who did not understand you, understand him, or even understood Shiro, will make judgments as they pleased. Right now, though, Lotor showed nothing aside from mild curiosity. He was back, but now there was an air of...something  _new_ between you two.

 

Lotor was open to talking about such sensitive topics. Although, being  **praised**  for his actions is not something he wished to accept as of yet.

 

“My father was an inmate at a prison,” you continued after seeing his raised brow ushering you silently, “A lifer. He was to stay locked up to  **rot** in his cell. When World War III broke out, my country was short on soldiers.”

 

You two began walking side by side down the maze of hallways. An arms distance between you two, just enough should moments of vulnerability rise to surface. Your eyes looked just as devoted as his, ready to handle what ever the future hurdles towards you two. This  _piece_  of your past you were sharing with him, he wanted to hold it in his mind, store it for analyzing later.

 

“Prisoners were given a choice under a newly passed law. Fight for your country  _ **or**_ forever remain known as a criminal. I begged him not to do it. I was  _terrified_. He was all I had left, the only family who saw me as a person rather than an  **investment** to cash in for the future. I loved him.”

 

The door leading to the main deck came into view. Both of you stood right outside of it, but did not walk through. Not  _yet_. Lotor turned to face you, well aware of how his genetics allowed him to tower over you and, when you arched your neck, his eyes unconsciously started cataloging that well-kept facade. Lips cemented in a frown, your own orbs meeting his gaze with no hint of yielding before this behemoth of a Galtean.

 

“They  _used_ him. Gave him a gun and told him to do  **good**. This was the right choice in his mind, the  _only_ choice. He wanted to fight by my side, protect me while I was out in the field aiding dying soldiers as they dropped like flies,” a flash of anger wiped over your expression, “The military separated us. Claiming that I would prioritize him over everyone else. Logically, that made sense. Emotions make you  _weak_ , they say.”

 

You let a pregnant pause fill the space between you two. Lotor’s ears could pick up how steady your heartbeat was and, inwardly, perhaps he was slightly impressed at how well composed you were in this aching conversation. There was an odd tingle on his fingertips, something akin to how he felt when he held that warm cup earlier. He knew what it was. He wanted to  _touch_ you in some way.

 

“He was taken as a prisoner of war.  **Captured**. They offered a trade, my country to surrender or the prisoners would die. The highly esteemed elected officials said they do not make deals with  _tyrants_. Evil. The supposed  **barbaric** enemy. I had no voice in the masses. I tried reasoning with my commanding officers. They did not listen. Why would they? I was a lowly field medic in their eyes.”

 

You tilted your head higher,  _just_ a bit, just to show you were being brave right now. Brave and ready to speak the next words with utmost conviction and... **seething** hatred.

 

“They let my father  _die_. They did not even give him a proper headstone. Nothing to honor him by. They treated lives like blood currency. For the  _greater_ good. What a lie. They don’t even  _know_ what the greater good is. When I heard the news, I  ** _blamed_**  myself. If I could have only reasoned with my father, reason that staying in prison meant staying  _alive_ , perhaps I would not have to bear the responsibility of his death on my shoulders. I was honorably discharged to allow time for grieving.”

 

Perhaps Lotor’s trauma was not at all similar to yours, but you knew the signs when he first arrived back on the Castle of Lions. The vacant look, the  **muted** aura around him, even if he was poised as if  _nothing_ had happened. As if he had not just killed his father in cold-blood for his own  _survival_. You recognized that white noise which most would think of him suffering in silence. No, he was healing in the only way he knew how, the only way  _you_ knew how. Lotor was a smart man, tactical in every aspect of his life, even when it came to his own monsters  _eating_ at his mind.

 

“They were wrong. Emotions don’t make you weak. They make you  **strong** , in both the  _best_ and  _worst_ kind of ways.”

 

You were a force of nature and a part of his mind whispered to him. 

 

_**Break it.** _

Prince Lotor brought a hand up your cheek, hovering an inch from actually touching you. He wanted your  _permission_. Not to comfort you, no, perhaps that would be a secondary effect. He wanted to  _touch_ you in your moment of vulnerability, taste this angst you so willingly  **share** , but refuse to let yourself drown in. How often have you swam to the surface? How long were you  _suffocating_ under the pressure? How did you  **save** yourself?

 

And how could you  _ever_ comfort someone like him?

 

You pushed your cheek into his warm palm, his thumb gently laying over your closed eyelids. He was aware of how large his hand was when cupping your face, how his fingers threaded into the hairs on the side of your head. Lotor’s pinky and ring finger were skimming the edge of your rounded ear, but he did not do anything else besides  _hold_ you. No stroking of his thumb, no added pressure on his end, nothing like that. If he was to be honest, it almost seemed like you were resting your face in his hand, using it as a reassuring pillow of sorts.

 

It was when your hand came up to trap his against your cheek,  _keep it there for a little longer,_  did Lotor realize there was a low  _purr_ rising deep from within his chest.

 

* * *

 

 

“What is your plan after the Kral Zera? Once you are appointed Emperor,” Shiro guided the lion past the asteroid belt with Lotor seated behind him in the cockpit.

 

Shiro was confident in him and the Prince knew without a wavering hint of doubt that he would be the one to light the flame. He had faith in his own skill. If he can kill his tyrannical father, everyone else under him would be either just as challenging or less so. Lotor quietly arranged his thoughts to properly answer Shiro, properly lay out his words to benefit both of their scenarios. After all, without Shiro, he would not have been on his way to planet Feyiv right now.

 

“I imagine you, and the other Paladins as well, would want to ration the Empire’s resources for the coalition’s planets. Consider it done. Anything that will help Voltron will aid me as well,” Lotor organized his next words, “There are  _archives_ of knowledge that the Empire can offer you as well. Star charts, war tactics, weapon schematics of  _all_ kind. Even advancements in the  **medical** field would greatly benefit your good doctor.”

 

The Black Paladin’s focus quivered. You were on Voltron’s side, but once Lotor was Emperor, they were all chasing the same goal. He did not want to lose you to Lotor  _before_ and he most definitely did not want you to leave them  _now_. Would you  **stay** with them? The team that questions where your loyalties lie? Or would you pursue your own dreams and seek out knowledge you could not find while trapped in the Castle of Lions?

 

Shiro told you once long ago that he would never,  _ **ever**_ , force you to stay. He knew your past. He knew that  _using_ you as a doctor should never be taken for granted. He  _ **knew**_  you were more than a doctor. You were your  _own_ person with the freedom to do as you wanted, as you  _needed._   Deep down, if that meant supporting you in whichever choice you make, then he would do it.

 

This war was just another war in your mind. 

 

“Would you allow your good doctor to study under the Galra Empire?”

 

_Would you allow me to **take** your doctor?_

“Yes. I believe that would be  **best** for all of us.”


End file.
